24 days left

I wrote the beginnings of five different (happier) stories today before I finished this one. I'm still not pleased with it.

The Letter

I roll over and look at the clock. 4:21 am. I am not going back to sleep. I sit up and turn on my light, rubbing my eyes. I try to read, but I cannot concentrate on the plot. I get out my notebook, and try to write a poem I have been thinking of for a while, but my pen just won't move. Slowly, it dawns on me why I cannot sleep. I'm worried about Gabriel. So I do what I always do. I write. Because I am stupid and I can't do anything else. Only idiots write about their problems instead of actually trying to fix them.

An hour later I slip the envelope addressed to my little sister under her bedroom door. I hope she reads it. I hope... I don't know what I am hoping for. It to help?

I go back to my room and write that essay for English that is due tomorrow.

Gabriel,
I see you everyday and I can't talk to you. So I am doing the only thing I know to do, I am writing. I am writing for your release. I cannot see the prison you are in, but I am more sure of it's existence then I am sure of the existence of South Africa. I don't know how to help you. I am not sure I can help you. If it was kids at school, I would beat them up for you. If it was math homework then I would tutor you. I know I cannot protect you from everything, have failed to protect you from this. But I cannot let go of this instinct to protect you. I'm eighteen Gabby, and I've been scared to do anything about this. But then this very scary thought came into my head, and woke me up this morning: Who will take care of you when I am at college?
Gabby, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Tell the jailer that I will do whatever it takes to get you out of there.
Simon